


Married

by darkmoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/darkmoore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a nightmare, only it's so much more than that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Married

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be written for my hc_bingo square "forced marriage" but it didn't get done in time. It also fits the "memory" challenge over at fan_flashworks, so I've posted it there, too. (Yay for two amnesty fills at once!) Thanks go to **brumeier** for yet another awesome beta.

_Big, calloused hands reach for Dean’s hips, pulling him closer as he struggles to wake up. Everything hurts. Rough fingers slip between his ass cheeks, rubbing over his sore, swollen anus, making Dean flinch. There is a chuckle from behind him and the hand on his hip tightens painfully._

_“Don’t play shy now, love. There’s no need – not after last night. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? You were so amazing, baby. Took my cock so well; just like I knew you would. Elder Jacob was so pleased with you. You done me proud at the ceremony.” Hot breath ghosts over his skin as the man leans over and licks at Dean’s naked shoulder. Bile rises in Dean’s throat but he forces it back and holds perfectly still, hoping the man will leave him alone._

_Memories come rushing back, about his ‘wedding night’, about the man calling himself his husband. He’s forty eight, that’s thirty-six years older than Dean is. His name is James, but he insisted Dean call him Jim. Right before he held Dean down and raped him in front of the whole ‘congregation’._

_“We should pick up where we left off, hm? You wore me out last night but now I want your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” He pulls Dean on top of himself with brute strength and pushes the covers away completely. “Come on, boy, open that mouth of yours for me. Get my dick nice and wet so I can fuck you again. You’d like that, don’t you? I bet you’re still slick from last night.”_

_A rough finger enters Dean’s body, making him cry out in pain. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt that humiliated or ashamed in his whole life._

_James laughs. “A little sore, huh? Don’t worry love, you’ll get used to my cock soon enough. I’ll just have to fuck you every day. You’ll see, in a couple of weeks you won’t even need much prep anymore. But now, suck me, boy.” He pushes on Dean’s shoulders, opens his legs wide and tilts his hips. His hard cock is right there next to Dean’s face and Dean thinks he is going to puke from the musky smell alone. He can’t imagine having to taste the liquid that’s dampening the tip of Jim’s cock._

_“Please,” he begs, breaking the vow he’s made with himself that no matter how bad it would get, he won’t beg for mercy. “Please, please don’t make me.” Tears sting in Dean’s eyes and constrict his throat. His face is flaming with heat, and shame burns like acid in his belly._

_Jim’s eyes are suddenly cold and hard. “You will obey me, boy, or I will have to complain to Elder Jacob about you. Your brother Samuel is almost of the age of marriage, isn’t he? Maybe I should ask for his hand in marriage next. I’m sure little Sammy will be a good boy for me.”_

_Dean panicks. “No. Not Sammy! NO!”_

A hand on his shoulder pulls Dean from his dream as he shoots upright in bed, panting as if he’d just run a marathon. Gadreel is beside him, holding up his hands in a placating manner, and his worried eyes never leave Dean’s face. 

“You back with me?” Gadreel asks softly, and there is something in his voice that makes every alarm bell in Dean’s head ring. 

He knows, Dean thinks, and the shame he just felt in his dream is back tenfold. Even though he knows he has nothing to be ashamed about. Every doctor told him so. His _head_ tells him so. But his stomach tends to disagree. 

“I’m fine,” Dean replies. It’s his standard answer. His answer to everything. It’s rarely really true though. 

“No, you’re not.” Gadreel says quietly, and lowers his hands. His whole posture is as non-threatening as possible and Dean knows it has to be deliberate. “But it’s okay if you want to pretend you are. Or you could tell me who did this to you. I’m here to listen, if you want to talk about it.”

“It was just a nightmare. Nothing to talk about,” Dean says defensively. It’s a lie. Of course it’s a lie, and they both know it. But Dean also knows Gadreel will make good on his word and not pry. He’ll let Dean have his little illusion of normalcy. Only for Dean nothing is ever normal. Not like this. Not when it comes to … intimacy. 

There is an angry line etched onto Gadreel’s forehead now, anger that is not directed at him, Dean is reasonably sure. Gadreel is upset on his behalf and trying hard to hide it. He seems to consider Dean’s answer for a moment and then nods curtly. “All right.” After a moment of silence Gadreel finally asks, “Is it okay if I touch you?” Only then Dean realizes the additional distance Gadreel put between the two of them. As if he knows how intimidating his broad shoulders and his solid build are right now for Dean. That he’s even taller than Dean doesn’t help any, either. 

“I … give me a minute to get my head together, k?” Dean mutters, shame burning in his stomach once again. He’s fairly sure that he’s just ruined the budding relationship between him and Gadreel with his childish behavior. Pity that, he really likes being with Gadreel. But now everything seems to be ruined. Dean hates that. Hates that every once in a while a memory will rear its ugly head and shatter every attempt Dean makes to have a healthy, normal relationship, into a million tiny pieces. It’s just not fair. But when has life ever been fair?

“Sure, take as long as you need. Not going anywhere.” Gadreel’s voice is laced with understanding and patience, but also something akin to hurt. Dean isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I’m not a threat to you, Dean.”

Dean buries his face in his hands and wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “I know. I’m sorry I’m freaking out on you,” he finally says. This whole situation is only marginally better than the time when a new lover had tried to wake him with a hand job and Dean had punched him in the face for it when coming out of his nightmare. 

The guy had been a lot less understanding and patient than Gadreel is right now. Which makes Dean wonder what exactly tipped Gadreel off. After all, this _could_ really have been just some sort of weird, generic nightmare. 

“How did you know?” Dean asks after a while when Gadreel doesn’t make any move to touch him or otherwise crowd him. He just sits there on the bed next to Dean and watches him. 

Gadreel’s smile is rueful and all too knowing, “I’ve been a social worker for a long time now, Dean. I recognize the signs when I see them. You’re a survivor of some sort of abuse. I don’t think I have to tell you that you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, right?”

Dean nods. He can’t answer, can’t even really look at Gadreel. It’s ridiculous how even after all these years his past can affect him that much. 

Gadreel sighs and scoots to the edge of the bed. “How about I go make some tea? Give you some time to calm down? And if you want to tell me what happened when I come back, I’ll listen. If not, it’s up to you if we go back to bed or you kick me out. Your choice, okay?” He doesn’t look back as he leaves for the kitchen. 

Dean feels like an idiot. Why the hell did this have to happen? Why couldn’t his past stay buried at least long enough for him to see if this thing with Gadreel would work out? Dropping something like this on a still fairly new lover is a sure way to kill all plans for the future. 

Dean rubs his face tiredly. He’s exhausted and the afterimages of the nightmare still linger like a heavy wet towel trying to suffocate him. He _liked_ Gadreel, dammit. Had tentatively hoped they could maybe become more than just … whatever it was they had been for each other. 

“You worry too much,” Gadreel says from the doorway, carrying a tray with two cups of tea. 

“Yeah, right, whatever,” Dean says and he knows he sounds resigned but he just can’t help it. He’s just so fed up with this whole damn nightmare gig. 

Gadreel places the tray with the tea on the bedside table. He’s radiating calm and confidence, which confuses Dean a great deal. Sure, Gadreel has probably worked with people like him, people who have been through the same kind of shit – or worse. It’s just that Dean has never met anyone who’s taken one of his freak-outs in stride. Or accepted it as normal. It’s screwing with Dean’s head. Gadreel is supposed to be upset, or disgusted, or impatient with him. Or all of these things at once. That he just calmly went and made Dean tea is not at all going according to plan. It’s not something Dean expected. Truth be told, part of Dean had been convinced Gadreel would just run out on him. 

With a sigh, Dean picks up his discarded t-shirt from the floor and pulls it on, before reaching for a cup and wrapping his fingers around it. He’s surprised that Gadreel even knows he likes tea, let alone _how_ he takes it. But when he takes a first sip the tea is exactly the way he prefers it, as if Gadreel didn’t even have to work to get it right. 

Climbing back on the bed, Dean pulls the covers up to his hips and settles his back against the headboard. He watches Gadreel calmly sip his own tea for a while before he comes to a decision. “You ever hear of ‘Azazel’s church of the enlightened few’?” he finally asks, deliberately looking anywhere but at Gadreel. 

Dean can hear the frown in his voice when Gadreel answers. “Wasn’t that some sort of cult, led by a nutjob who preached that there are demons and monsters among us, out to drag everyone to hell? Authorities took the whole thing apart a few years back. Wasn’t pretty. The members who didn’t kill themselves serve time for human trafficking and multiple charges of child molestation.” Gadreel takes a deep shuddery breath, and Dean knows what’s coming. Questions. Maybe disgust, maybe pity. The look in Gadreel’s eyes when he tells Dean he’s leaving to ‘give him space’. 

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Gadreel says after a moment of heavy silence. 

Dean looks at Gadreel incredulously. What the hell?

“Of course it’s not my fault that my father drowned in a bottle and believed this manipulative asshole enough to join his little club. Of course it’s not my fault that he was too drunk to care that by the age of twelve I got ‘married’ off to a pedophile pervert who raped me as part of our ‘marriage ceremony’. Of course it’s _not my damn fault!_ I did what I had to do to save Sammy!”

Dean bangs the now empty cup back onto the tray and glares at Gadreel angrily. Gadreel just looks at him, calmly. He seems unfazed by Dean’s outburst. 

Finally Gadreel nods lightly. “Now you only need to believe it.” He places his cup back onto the tray as well and leans against the wall next to the bed without actually crowding Dean.

Dean flinches anyway. That’s not what he expected Gadreel would say. Then again, Gadreel is not behaving in any manner Dean is used to. It’s unsettling and disturbing. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was a kid. I couldn’t have done anything differently.” Dean knows he sounds defensive now. But he can’t help it. Gadreel is getting under his skin in ways he’s not used to. 

“That’s your therapists speaking right there. If you repeat it often enough, maybe you’ll actually believe it one day. But I hold little hope of that working. What does Sammy have to say to this? Does he know you’re still torn up about the past?” 

There they are, the questions Dean expected. Only not. No-one ever asked _these_ kinds of questions. No-one had ever figured out Dean the way Gadreel has just done. Not the therapists, not partners Dean has inevitably had to tell over the years. How the hell does Gadreel do that? 

“You leave my little brother out of this. He’s none of your business.” Dean snaps at Gadreel. A wave of protectiveness and panic rushes over Dean at the thought of Sammy. In his mind Sammy is still that eleven year old boy he helped escape from their tormentors.

Gadreel nods thoughtfully. “Your little brother. That’s a powerful connection. You were his protector, the only person he had left to turn to. The only one he could depend on. That’s a lot to shoulder for a twelve year old. Can I ask what happened to him?” Gadreel’s tone is carefully neutral. It’s neither condescending nor pitying. If anything, he sounds unnaturally calm and unsurprised by Dean’s outburst. 

Dean snorts. Gadreel’s words are so carefully worded but in the end he is just as greedy for Dean’s story as all the others have been. They got a sick thrill out of hearing him talk about his past. 

“Helped him escape when he reached the age where he would be handed over for marriage to some pervert,” Dean says simply. He doesn’t want to talk about that night, doesn’t want to think about Sammy, about his tears and his pleas for Dean to flee with him. But Dean had to refuse him. It was just too dangerous. 

“You stayed behind to stall them. To give him a better chance at escape,” Gadreel says. It isn’t a question. 

Dean feels a lump form in his throat and his stomach roils. He shrugs. “I couldn’t let them get their hands on him. I needed him to be safe and for that, I needed to stay behind. Never saw him again after that night.” There is a burn in Dean’s chest, a familiar ache that comes with the memories of the brother he lost. Dean’s used to it by now. 

“So the feds got you out of there when they took apart the place a couple years later?”

Dean feels Gadreel’s eyes on him. Strangely enough it’s calming instead of upsetting. Gadreel’s reaction has been nothing like anything he experienced so far, so maybe it’s okay to tell him the rest, too. 

“My … so-called husband … died when I was sixteen. I managed to escape before anyone found out. I tried to find Sammy but whoever took him in hid him well. I couldn’t find a trace of him after so many years. Eventually I had to give up because I ran out of options. I settled down, opened the garage and the rest is history as they say.” Dean stretches and looks at Gadreel with purpose. He forces himself to really look at him and see what’s there. 

Yes, Gadreel is tall and solid, threatening to some, maybe, but to Dean he looks like a rock to hold on to. Someone who will be strong for him instead of crush him. Someone who might be able to take Dean’s weight for a while, who might be able to share his burden and face his demons with him. It’s a strange thought. 

“Can we not talk about this anymore? Come back to bed and let’s get some more sleep. I’m beat.”

For a moment Gadreel looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to ask if Dean is sure, but then he just nods and slips into bed next to Dean. They settle comfortably, if not too close, and Dean lets the exhaustion take over and pull him under. 

Epilogue: 

Three months later Dean walks into his apartment with a smile of his face. Instead of breaking up, Gadreel and he are even closer than before. There’s talk about moving in together and Dean feels more content than he can remember feeling, ever. Dean is sure he’s finally found the right person to share his life with. As he enters the kitchen, Dean notices an envelope on the table, addressed to him in Gadreel’s spidery scrawl. He opens it and finds a business card and a photo. “Samuel Campbell – Lawyer” says the business card, followed by an address. Dean would have recognized the hazel eyes and dimples that smile back at him from the photo anywhere. 

Dean smiles and excitement spreads through him. 

Gadreel has found Sammy for him.


End file.
